Aftermath
by lycanus1
Summary: He was my world and I'd trusted him implicitly. More fool me ... pt.I, F.I.N.E. * As far as he's concerned, I no longer exist, and that grieves me more than any wound I've ever suffered in battle. pt.II, Pain * pt. III, Unrequited, now up
1. F I N E

Title: F.I.N.E.

Author: Lycanus

Fandom: King Arthur

Character(s): Dagonet

Rating: M

Type: angst

Summary: He was my world and I'd trusted him implicitly. More fool me ...

Comments & Reviews: positive comments welcomed

Disclaimer: Sadly, Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures still own the lads and refuse to take my offer of a good and loving home seriously ...

Warning: slashy themes and strong language

A/N: i) The title and song "F.I.N.E." belong to Aerosmith and stands for: Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional

ii) This is an one-shot from Dag's pov and directly follows the events of "The First Cut Is The Deepest ..." and "Blood Ties."

*********

**F.I.N.E.**

_Dagonet's pov:_

In the end I told Bors I was fine, just so that I could be left in peace and to stop him worrying. Whether he believed me or not, I don't care. Somehow, I don't think he did and knowing my cousin as I do, he probably retreated to re-group and to come up with another plan to keep an eye on me so that I don't do anything stupid.

If being "fine" means that I'm feeling fucked-up, insecure, neurotic and emotional, then yes ... I am fine. But - if I'm being honest with myself - I'm _not_ "fine" in the true sense of the word. Far from it ...

I'm an absolute fucking mess.

I can't eat. I can't sleep. I'm unable to function properly anymore. I've become a bloody liability, not just to myself but to everyone around me. I can no longer concentrate on anything, thanks to _him ...  
_He's the one to blame that I'm this way. Tristan meant the world to me. I gave him everything I possessed. My heart, body and soul. I would have laid down my life for him, if he'd asked it of me. With no questions asked and no hesitation. And I would have done it gladly. Willingly. And wholeheartedly.  
Because I loved him more than I ever thought possible. And I'd loved him for almost half my lifetime.

I truly believed that he returned my feelings, but that damn Aorsi bastard ended up breaking my heart and I never saw it coming ... He was my world and I'd trusted him implicitly. More fool me ...

I should have known better at my age than to place all of my faith and trust in one person. But he truly made me happy and so I dropped my guard. Lowered my defences and let him in. Now I wish to the gods that I hadn't, for the anguish and pain caused by his betrayal is slowly, but surely, killing me and I haven't the will nor the strength to fight it anymore.  
I feel dead inside. Completely numb. And I hate myself for feeling like this. For being so weak. So impotent ... For being such a godsdamn, fucking fool.

Like I said, I'm a bloody mess. I've let myself go and I haven't the will nor the inclination to take care of myself - I just can't be arsed any more. I'm broken. Mentally. Physically. And spiritually ...  
I used to be strong, like all Roxolani. As a tribe, we took great pride in our strength, our courage and our will to fight for what was important to us. We were strong and powerful in stature, character and nature. Passionate about what we believed in and who we loved.  
And I'd lost everything which made me a Roxolani. I'd lost my strength and my passion.

I can't remember what or when I last ate. Sleep is also a distant memory. Whenever I close my eyes I'm haunted by the image of my lover in another man's arms, and it's something I'm never going to forget. That's probably why I've taken to drinking so heavily recently. It's my ham-fisted way of dealing with the situation I'm in. If I drink myself into a stupor, then I'm unable to think, dream or care about anything and that suits me perfectly.

With hindsight, I honestly don't know why Tristan chose to be with me. I am his elder by three years, crippled by shyness and lacking in self-confidence. People are intimidated by my appearance, for I seem unapproachable. They find my presence daunting and my silence unnerving.  
I am not so deluded to think that I am fair like the others. I do not possess Galahad's boyish appeal; Gawain's charm, wit and good humour which is loved by all; nor am I blessed with Tristan's dark, feral beauty. My face is cursed by the long, vicious scar which runs from my left temple down my cheek. I was fortunate not to lose my sight, never mind my life, when I was gifted with a broadsword's kiss ten years ago. Looking back, it _would_ have been a merciful kindness if that blade _had_ claimed my life, at least then I would have been spared all this fucking misery ...

I _have_ tried to forget him, but to no avail. Everywhere I go - everything I see or hear - seems to remind me of him. Of what I've lost. Because of this, I crave solitude more than I used to. I have always been a loner by nature and I am used to my own company. But after what happened, I have become more of a recluse and am perceived as a morose, withdrawn bastard who seeks comfort in a skin of ale or a flagon of mead or wine.

Tristan appears to be spending far less time here at the garrison and according to Bors, seems to be on permanent patrol by his own choice. I am not sure whether that is a blessing or a curse to be honest. It is a double-edged sword; for it _is_ a blessing that he is not here to remind me of what we had, yet it _is_ a curse that I am also reminded of that by his absence.

In fairness, he did make an attempt at a reconciliation a few weeks ago. But I shunned him completely.  
I was still licking my wounds, which were _still_ raw and bloody, and I am ashamed to say I felt a great need - a compulsion - to hurt him. To make him suffer as badly, if not worse, than I am. Instead of talking with him, I left the tavern with the newest serving wench - a tiny, raven-haired, golden-eyed, buxom beauty. A kind-hearted, spirited lass who had earlier rebuffed all of Lancelot's advances and had pulled a knife on him when he continued to ignore her wishes to be left alone. I made a point of making sure that Tristan saw us leave together.  
Seeing the shock and complete devastation on his normally impassive, handsome face should have satisfied me ... but it left me feeling empty and furious with myself for having stooped so low.

What is really killing me is the fact that although I hate Tristan for what he did to me, and that I've lost my trust in him, I'm unable to stop loving him. Despite my better judgement, I'm _still _in love with him. I can't help it. The bugger is my weakness and will continue to be so until I draw my very last breath. He has got under my skin, and holds my heart from this life unto the next. He has become part of me and I'm desperately struggling to survive without my Aorsi Scout.

Living without Tris is sheer bloody hell. _I _still want him. I crave him. I _need_ him - so badly, that I know I will inevitably take him back. I am all too aware of this, because the pain of being without Tristan far outweighs what he has done. My life is meaningless without him and to put it bluntly, I _will _end up surrendering myself to him ...

Simply because _I_ miss him ...

**Finis**


	2. Pain

**Title:** Pain  
**Author:** Lycanus  
**Fandom:** King Arthur  
**Character(s):** Tristan  
**Rating:** M  
**Type:** angst; slash  
**Summary:** As far as _he's_ concerned, I no longer exist and that grieves me more than any wound I've ever suffered in battle.  
**Coments & Reviews:** positive comments welcomed  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures still own the KA lads and refuse to take my offer of a good and loving home seriously.

**A/N:** Epilogue from Tristan's pov, following "The First Cut Is The Deepest ..."

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_Tristan's pov:_

This was a mistake ... I made a grave mistake coming here.

But Gawain and the Pup had been insistent and gave me no choice. Refusal hadn't been an option left to me. The blond Halani had even sworn to hunt me down if I hadn't shown. But now, I wished that I had stayed away and not ventured anywhere near the tavern. Never mind across its threshold. Wished more than anything that I'd risked his wrath, for it could never come close to the pain which I now felt ...

It's been four weeks - four long, agonizing, lonely weeks - since I've fucked up and lost the only person that ever mattered to me. The one person I truly cared about. Desired. Wanted. Needed ... And loved - no, I _still_ love - with my heart, body and soul.  
Four gods-awful, heartbreaking weeks since I stupidly betrayed my lover. A month since I'd found Dagonet, drunk and devastated, lying half-dead and bleeding profusely from wounds which he'd inflicted upon himself. And it was all my fault. _If _my beloved Roxolani healer had died then I _would_ have swiftly followed him and taken my own life.  
I've not had any contact with him for a whole month and not for the want of trying on my part. I can safely say that these past four weeks have been the worst in my entire life. Dag's been avoiding me like the plague. And who can blame him ? As far as _he's_ concerned, I no longer exist, and that grieves me more than any wound I've ever suffered in battle. Being deprived of his company, not being able to talk to him, hold him and love him as he truly deserves to be loved, is slowly tearing me apart.  
I miss him so badly, that words cannot accurately convey what I'm genuinely feeling. All I can say is that it's fucking killing me and that I feel so lost, so cold and so empty without him ...

Like I said, it's tough trying to gain the attention of someone who clearly wants nothing to do with you. And Dagonet has made that exceptionally clear. A blind man couldn't fail to see it. Dag wants nothing more to do with me. As soon as he sees me, he disappears. Fades into the shadows like an inish ... a spirit. And that hurts. Truly fucking hurts ...  
I _know_ what I did was wrong. That I wounded him grievously. But all I want is an opportunity to talk. A chance, however slight or remote, to make things up to him. To try and win him back ... The chance of that happening, is like that of hell freezing over. Non-existent. And the odds that he'll ever forgive me are highly unlikely. But I've got to try - I have to. For _both_ our sakes ...  
I'm not prepared to throw away what we had - something so precious, so perfect and wondrous - and I am determined to fight for Dagonet. It's like I have a huge gaping void in my life where Dag used to be, and I feel as if a vital part of me is missing now that he's left me.

I try to keep away from the fort and its garrison as much as I can, because I feel I don't belong there any more. The only enticement I had to stay was Dag ...

Both Gawain and Galahad are severely disappointed in me. The former had been so furious, that I truly believed he would have killed me for what I'd done to Dagonet; the latter, unusually, kept his opinion to himself. But the Pup didn't have to say anything, not when his soft, dark brown eyes constantly gazed at me with gentle reproach.

Lancelot, I steered clear of for obvious reasons, considering he was the one who got me into such strife to begin with and was the root of all of my current misery and Dagonet's pain.

Bors, meanwhile, I intended to avoid at all costs. The only reason I can come up with for still being alive, is that the older Roxolani hasn't got wind of what happened and I'm aware that I'm living on borrowed time ...  
Basically, I'm a dead man walking. Once Bors finally hears about how badly I hurt his beloved young cousin - and he inevitably will - he _will_ be after my blood. And I do not fancy my chances of survival, because in Bors' eyes I have committed the worst possible offence. I've betrayed his kinsman, and ultimately, Bors himself by doing so. For it is common knowledge at the fort, that family is everything to the Big Man. Hurt one of his clan and you hurt him ... And there's no denying it, Bors thinks the world of Dagonet, and would do _anything_ for him.

*********

So, here I am, sitting by myself in a dark corner, like a leper, brooding.  
After a while, both the Pup and Gawain gave up on me and wandered off to join Bors and Vanora, having finally come to the conclusion that I wasn't going to be good company and just wanted to be left alone to get absolutely rat-arsed. I just wanted to get so drunk, that I would pass out in a stupor and be able to have one decent night's sleep, where I didn't dream of what I'd so foolishly lost.

My Dagonet.

There had been a bit of a commotion earlier on. Lancelot had been trying it on with Vanora's newest wench, Raven. From what I'd gathered from the Pup, the dark knight had been trying to get her into his bed for the past week, but to no avail. And when I saw her, I could hardly blame him for wanting her.  
The girl was young, couldn't have been older than nineteen, but she was of age or Vanora would not have employed her. She was short, slender and curvaceous and moved with a silent, cat-like grace. Long, black hair fell almost to her waist, and her oval face was stunningly beautiful with its high cheekbones, full pouting lips which tilted upwards with a ready smile and a pair of impish, striking, amber-hued eyes.  
She'd endured his advances in silence, for longer than any of the other wenches, then without warning, she turned on him. It was difficult to say who had been more shocked when she'd swiftly pulled Lancelot's own knife on him and threatened to castrate him on the spot if he did not leave her alone. And judging by the look of pure loathing she gave him, all of us who were witness to the ruckus were left in no doubt that she would quite happily carry out her threat. Fearing for the welfare of what he considered to be the most important part of his anatomy, Lancelot beat a hasty retreat and went in search of another victim.

Then suddenly, I saw him.

Like most of the tavern's inhabitants, I'd been engrossed by the spectacle of Lancelot being thoroughly put in his place by a mere slip of a girl, that I'd failed to notice him. He stood in his usual spot, leaning against an old, oak post, a large, wooden goblet of mead tightly grasped in his right hand.  
Despite the fact that he looked like hell, my heart began to race madly at the sight of him. I'd never seen him so unkempt. Dagonet was extremely pale, had dark shadows beneath his eyes and was unshaven. Yet in spite of his gaunt, dishevelled appearance, I _still_ wanted him badly. He continued to be the most strikingly beautiful sight I'd ever seen. I hated myself and couldn't help feeling guilty for being responsible for Dag's current state. I deeply regretted what I'd done to him more than anything in my life. The fault was mine and mine alone ... No one else was to blame.

He slowly drew himself away from the post, and began to leisurely walk in my direction. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, which didn't quite reach the icy depths of his arresting, silver eyes. And for a brief moment, I dared to hope that he wanted to talk. Wanted to be with me. Wanted me back ...

But he stopped just short of me and began to talk quietly with Raven. She smiled tenderly at him and laughed softly, before gently taking his big hand and lacing her slim fingers with his.  
I could only watch in stunned disbelief and felt as if I'd been kicked hard and repeatedly in the gut. Jealousy swiftly flared and took hold of me. And at that moment, I felt a cold anger and intense hatred towards the girl who had succeeded in bringing a smile to my Dagonet's ruggedly handsome countenance. She had no place - no right - to make him smile, to hold his hand and lean into his strong, powerful body. _That_ was my place ... _My_ right ...

I saw Dagonet reach out and gently sweep a long swathe of thick, blue-black hair back over her shoulder, and felt myself go cold. Despair enveloped me as I realized that I was witnessing one of my greatest fears. _I _was losing him. I was losing my beloved Dagonet to this raven-haired bint and there was nothing I could do about it. I could only watch and lose all hope. I found it hard to breathe and felt an overwhelming pain in my chest. My stumoch lurched uneasily and my hand somehow came to rest upon the hilt of the dagger sheathed at my waist.  
I felt consumed by an intense need, a desire, to kill the girl who was unwittingly breaking my heart and stealing my lover from me.

The terrible thing was that I wanted to walk away. I didn't want to see what was happening in front of me, yet I couldn't move. My traitorous body refused to obey my wishes and I couldn't look away, no matter how badly I wanted to.  
I began to frantically hope that Dag would notice me. That he'd push her roughly away from him. Leave her and walk up to me. Take my hand and lead me away from the tavern to his quarters, before throwing me onto his large, fur-covered bed. Then he'd punish me without mercy. Take me any and every way imaginable until I couldn't see straight and my poor, ravished, sated body would be so drained and aching so badly that I would never be able to leave him ... Not that I ever wanted to be parted from him. All I desired, yearned for, was to be always at his side. For eternity ...

But that did not happen.

I suddenly felt Dagonet's eyes upon me and trembled beneath the intensity of his gaze. The tavern seemed to have become extremely warm in a short space of time, and I flushed before realizing that Dag was_ not _looking at me. Rather, he was looking_ through _me. He did not see me ...  
He then calmly followed Raven towards the stairs which led to her quarters.

Devastated, I left not long after that. My hopes crushed. Dreams shattered. And my heart broken into tiny pieces ... Any aspirations I had of being reconciled with Dagonet had been truly laid to waste, the moment he'd willingly followed Raven to her bed. And I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that whatever pain I'd suffered in the past was nothing in comparison to the anguish and hurt I felt now.

For the loss of my lover - the only person I ever loved and continued to be in love with - would surely be the bane of my life. And Dag would forever be the thorn within me. A sharp, painful, constant reminder of what I'd lost, thanks to a stupid, meaningless, drunken whim ...

**Finis**


	3. Unrequited

**Title:** Unrequited  
**Author:** Lycanus  
**Fandom:** King Arthur  
**Character(s): **Raven ( ofc ); Dagonet  
**Rating:** M  
**Type:** angst; friendship  
**Summary:** I am aware that he is fond of me, but that - to my intense sorrow - is as far as it goes. I cannot hold that against nor blame him, as it is not his fault that he continues to feel hurt and is reluctant to allow anyone close to him.  
**Comments & Reviews:** positive comments welcomed.  
**Disclaimer:** Dagonet, unfortunately, _still _belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures and they _still_ refuse to relinquish him to my tender mercies ! Raven, though, belongs to me.

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**Unrequited**

_Raven's pov:_

I swear upon my life that I never meant for this to happen ... but despite my good intentions, it did.

I fell for him. Deeply. Passionately. Completely ... and irrevocably in love with him.  
At first, I only sought his friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. There was something about him which drew me. Like a moth to a flame ...

I clearly remember the first time I saw him.  
Vanora'd just taken me on at the tavern and I was struggling to find my bearings, when he turned up. The first impression I got was of a very imposing, hard looking man that towered over me. Although, that was nothing new for me, being so short I was dwarfed by almost everyone. But I was daunted by him. In awe of his sheer physical presence and masculinity. He moved silently, kept to the shadows and avoided everyone's curious gaze, his actions wolf-like. Wary. Reserved. Untrusting.  
Compared to the other Sarmatian knights, he was striking in appearance rather than handsome. Tall and strappingly built, with closely cropped dark hair and stubble, his ruggedly attractive face was marred by a long, brutal looking scar which fell from his temple narrowly missing his left eye.  
But it was his eyes which I found mesmerizing. They were an arresting shade of silver. Limpid and stunningly beautiful. And full of tremendous pain and suffering. The sorrow in those pale, gentle orbs wrenched my heart and all I wished to do was ease the constant agony he was enduring. And that is why I felt a burning need to offer him my friendship.

I soon learnt that he was a Roxolani healer. A kinsman to Vanora's lover, Bors. His younger cousin in fact, and although they both had their hair shorn, had tattooed, muscular arms and wore the black and silver ring of their tribe, that was where their resemblance ended.  
Where Bors was loud, gregarious, fun-loving and enjoyed a good fight, Dagonet was quiet, shy, gentle of nature and kind hearted. The young healer was a formidable, yet reluctant warrior who hated suffering and bloodshed.

Somehow, I found the nerve to start talking to him, and gradually a tentative alliance grew between us. Over the following couple of weeks, he'd call at the tavern for a skin of ale or a flagon of mead or wine, and he slowly began to feel more at ease in my company.  
I began to look forward to his nightly visits. I lived for his wistful, shy smiles and longed to hear him laugh. I yearned to see him happy. I wished for that more than anything. Before I was aware of it, the fondness I'd felt for him had evolved into something deeper. Stronger. Liking had turned to caring. Caring had turned to love and it had been something Vanora had realized all too quickly.  
The fiesty redhead had also become a good friend and concern had prompted her to speak to me. Fearing that I was becoming attached to Bors' cousin and would end up hurt, she took me aside and revealed the cause of Dagonet's anguish. I realized she did it because she cared, but with the folly and recklessness of youth I paid no heed. I continued to fall for a man who was over ten years older than myself, plummeting headlong like a falcon after its prey.

*********

I love watching him sleep. It's the only time he seems at peace. The lines of pain and torment and that haunted look - which I hate to see - finally leave his face and he appears serene. Vulnerable and almost youthful ...

He has not said anything, yet I am aware that he is fond of me, but that - to my intense sorrow - is as far as it goes. I cannot hold that against nor blame him, as it is not his fault that he continues to feel hurt and is reluctant to allow anyone close to him. That he cannot bring himself to trust or permit himself to care. I am fortunate that he now feels comfortable in my presence and is willing to lie with me. And for that concession alone, I am grateful.

Dagonet may be here sharing my bed, yet I am not so young and naive that I'm blinded to the fact that his mind is elsewhere. That his heart _still_ belongs to another and will continue to do so until he draws his very last breath. I know that he belongs body and soul to another - he always will. But I do not care. I will gladly take what little piece of his heart he feels able to bestow upon me. All I want is for him to be happy and I would rather have a small part of him in my life than nothing at all.

I can't deny that I don't feel any pain when I see the wistful longing in his silver eyes and the desperate hunger on his attractive face when I catch him watching his former lover. It pierces me as surely as a knife blade through the heart, especially when I know that I am not the true object of his affections. The tenderness that he feels towards me is nothing compared to the depth of feeling, the passion, the desire and the absolute unconditional love he still feels for his soulmate. It pales into insignificance, as does the moon when it's eclipsed by the brightness of the sun.  
The terrible thing is that the exact emotions are mirrored in his lover's eyes and face as well. It is obvious that they both want each other, yet are either too proud or stubborn to admit it. And because of it, the pair of them are clearly suffering. Despite knowing all of this, I've hardened my heart to the acute pain in my rival's golden eyes. I cannot bring myself to feel compassion for the one person that caused such anguish and suffering to the man I adore with all of my being.

The only solace I have - and I know that this makes me a selfish bitch - is that the bed that Dagonet now shares _is _mine. The arms that cradle him as he silently slumbers _are_ mine. _I'm_ the one that keeps him warm at night. _I'm _the one who comforts and soothes him when he finds sleep elusive or when his nightmares become too great. I realize that I'm not his first choice as a bedmate but I will do anything in my power to make him happy, even if it means I will have to sacrifice my love for him and set him free. Free to return to his heart's only desire.

But right now, as he drowsily pulls me into his embrace and draws my head to rest upon the broad expanse of his bare chest, I'm exactly where I want to be. I can't help but smile wistfully, as I feel his firm lips gently brush my temple and his forearm rests warmly against the curve of my waist.  
Yet somehow, at the back of my mind, I've a sense of foreboding that my happiness will be shortlived. Dagonet _will_ inevitably leave me and return to his love. And I will not stand in his way ... Deep down, I know I will end up heartbroken and that is why I intend to make the most of my time with him. To revel in the feel of his lean, powerful body and its warmth as his Scout - _his_ Tristan - is left out in the cold ...

**Finis**


End file.
